Darius Knight
by AntiPsychedelic
Summary: A compilation of short stories in the lives of my OCs - Darius Knight, Ash Wolff, Olivia Price and Argent Cole. This is not the main story, or even before it begins. It's just a bunch of insight into critical times of their lives. (If you're here from instagram and know who they are: welcome! If not, please enjoy and try to make sense of this whole mess.)


**Note: This is the first chapter in a series of events throughout the lives of my OCs- Darius, Ash, Olivia and Argent. It won't tell the whole story itself, since I plan to write a book series for that, but this will be a small collection of chapters to kind of give more context into who they are and their background ^^ Their origins, critical points in their lives, interactions, etc. Hope you enjoy!**

Darius was just a kid when it happened – 13 years old. That's not an age where you wonder if tomorrow will come, you just expect it too. You expect everything to stay the same as it did today, just as he did.

It's not as if he was raised sheltered, he was only oblivious to true struggle. Being raised as the only heir to an eventual throne – _the_ throne of all thrones – the head of one of the only remaining pureblooded vampire clans. There was nothing more powerful in the vampire world than being pureblooded, it meant not a single drop of human blood existed in you or your family line before you.

Being raised this way, a lot was handed to him. Darius needed only to say the word, and received whatever it was he wanted. His parents were laying out an entire empire for him to inevitably inherit, and to say he was eager for the position would be an understatement. He was counting down the days until he was head of the entire clan, because to him it seemed like King of the world. What other position could be more important?

But this didn't last forever.

Being raised in the perfect fantasy previously described is exactly what made everything so hard to believe actually happened.

Shooting. Screaming. Laughing.

Dinner parties usually went all the same. Classy wine bottles, polite chit chat, a huge hall filled with only the highest up people. Darius was used to being sat next to his Father at the head of the table, and walking around to make small talk. That was what was expected of him, and his future position as the new head they'd all take orders from.

Yesterday's dinner party went differently. Uninvited guests showed up, finally deciding that yesterday was the day they'd attack. Darius' Father was in the middle of a toast when it happened, shot through the back of the head.

Darius froze. Like he was unable to process what happened. Like time had stopped moving. He couldn't even hear the intruders' victory speech, or their rambling about wanting control. All he could focus on was his Mother's last words, to run, before she was killed as well.

But he couldn't run. His legs were like jelly as he stood before the bloodstained table. It was a gruesome scene. One that Darius couldn't describe to anyone, and probably never would be able to.

It wasn't as if he was never exposed to such violence. He'd watched deaths happen before his very eyes before, by guns or otherwise. But none were his family. His parents were his only true family. The rest of the clan were merely people who worked for them.

By the time he'd found it in himself to jump and escape, it was already too late. He found both his arms seized by two separate men, lifted completely off the ground. All the kicking and screaming in the world would prove to be useless as he was dragged away, the loud bangs and his own yells forever stitched into his mind.

…

He squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would help erase the memories. It didn't.

Darius shook his head, gaze averting up towards the old, crusted ceiling. Brown water occasionally dripped down from it, droplets here and there landing on the small raven haired boy's head. He shut one eye, as a drop almost fell on there. Darius shook his bangs back into his eyes as he looked down, as if this would create some small comfort for him. It really didn't.

As he tugged uselessly at the restraints to his wrists, holding him up off the ground, the same future he once looked towards with brightened eyes now seemed entirely hopeless. He didn't exactly want to be left on these restraints for the rest of his life... But he really wouldn't complain if his life was cut short here and now.

He spent several days after his capture, who knew how long, bound to that basement. He was tortured for fun, not for information. He knew his inevitable death was coming, and he knew his chances of escape were slim, but there was nothing he could do.

Darius couldn't tell if it was night or day when he heard heavy footsteps descending down the stairs. He looked up towards the sound, eyes empty and solemn. What worse could they possibly do to him, the boy wondered. He was bloodied and bruised, already pushed beyond his limits. There was no convincing, no hope, no avoiding whatever they wanted.

The first sight he saw was a pair of big black boots, rusted at the edges. The man wore dark blue jeans that appeared ripped from lots of fighting rather than having been purchased that way. He wore a black tank top, both arms sleeved with tattoos to the point where it seemed almost cluttered to Darius. His muscles were huge too, which might've instilled all the more fear into Darius had he not been so worn out.

He carried a shotgun and cloth, cleaning the rifle's side off as he walked. He approached Darius, standing before him just a short distance away.

There was silence. They met each other's gaze, and remained that way until the man spoke up.

"I used to work for your parents."

He said.

This caught Darius' attention, as deprived and exhausted as he was. He didn't know traitors personally, but he knew they existed. The ones who decided to betray his parents and his clan, and join a rival's side. He couldn't understand what would entice any of them to do that, and now here he was – standing before one of the very people he could never understand.

"You're probably wondering why I don't anymore. I was... bribed. Persuaded. Personal reasons." He shook his hand dismissively, lowering the gun to rest at his side. It was a small but comforting indicator that the rifle probably wasn't going to be used on Darius.

"Betrayal is disgusting. It strips any vampire of their honor... Something that should never be done."

He paused.

"They intended to come down and kill you now. You no longer served a purpose to them. Which made me realize... They no longer serve a purpose to me."

The man whipped back out his gun again, and Darius' widened eyes now squeezed shut. He heard the bang but was never met with a bullet. Instead, his restraints were. He found himself landing swiftly on the ground, rubbing his strained wrists.

"I'm returning to the right side...

You have an empire to run."

…..

The man's name was Kuro, a name Darius knew he'd never forget. Nor would this person, this savior, ever leave his life.

They didn't need to escape, only walked out of the hideout together, stepping over bodies along the way. The shaken up thirteen year old heir still couldn't figure out how things turned around so quickly in a matter of only a few minutes... He couldn't even muster the energy to speak or ask questions as he usually did. Though he figured maybe this time, silence was okay.

They walked out to an old black hearse parked right outside the building. Darius hopped in the passenger side seat, Kuro getting in the driver's and speeding off. Darius expected the air to be tense and unsettling, but it really wasn't. In a way, he sort of felt like they silently understood each other without needing words. And for the first time ever, it was nice to have something like that. A sort of organic bond.

"I can only imagine how it must've went down." Kuro commented with stern eyes on the road, referring to the attack that happened just under a week ago. The one that ended Darius' parents' lives. The one that Darius would never be able to get out of his head.

"How can you be so certain I have an empire to return to?" Darius asked, finally able to get comfortable enough to find his voice. Why would anyone have stuck around? And for what? Some thirteen year old kid to lead them? For all he knew, Kuro was leading him back to take advantage of him. To claim the clan for himself, under Darius' supposed "approval". That must've been it.

"If they are anything like I remember, they all stayed. Every one of them held an uncanny loyalty. More than I ever had." Kuro replied.

"And how can I be certain you don't intend to take the throne for yourself?" Darius glared.

Kuro smirked, "What could you do if I did?"

Darius blinked. Was he correct? And was Kuro willing to admit as much so easily?

"Don't look so surprised. You should've known. What makes a child so qualified – pureblooded royal or otherwise? No matter how you sugarcoat it, you are a _child._ It'd be.. what's the expression... Taking candy from a baby, stealing your position." Kuro threatened.

And with that, Darius snapped. He did not endure countless restless nights of torture, bare witness to the brutal slaughtering of so many people close to him including his parents, to have all he looked forward to in his life ripped away from him so quickly. No way.

His life was just starting to begin. And that wouldn't be taken away. He had nothing left to lose anymore.

Darius lunged for a pocket knife resting on the dashboard, flipped it out and held it against Kuro's neck before he could react. Kuro swerved with surprise off the street, almost crashing into a nearby tree. His foot slammed down on the breaks, now eased up along with his other once tense muscles.

"I will murder you here and now for my throne. Nobody will be taking my place, I'm the best of the best. And I will strike down anyone who says otherwise." Darius spat.

"Relax...

I meant nothing of what I said."

Kuro chuckled. "It was only a test...

You really do take after your Father... You're just like him. Now more than ever, I'm sure of it.. You deserve this."

Darius was shocked, a shaky hand slowly pulling away from the man's throat. Just as quickly as the anger came, the sadness did now. Tears welled up in the boy's blood red eyes, dropping the weapon on the floor. He was finally allowed to let loose all the tears that'd been locked up inside him, and cry away all the misery he'd endured. And Kuro sat there for it all, even offering a supportive hand on his frail shoulder.

…..

The final confirmation that this was meant to be Darius' path appeared clear as day to him once they returned back to his estate. After walking inside, the two were met with many faces of shock. None of them could believe Darius was not only still alive, but striding right in side by side by Kuro, who was once his Father's right hand man, and now no longer a traitor to them. This right hand man was now passed down, from Father to son.

Darius walked into the main dining room, past all the silent faces. His widened gaze lifted up to a large frame on the wall, of Darius' parents in a portrait taken only a couple years ago. The area was decorated much like a shrine, bright red roses and dozens of small polaroid photographs littering the scene. And the frame beside theirs was of their only son, Darius, who everyone had presumed had died not long after.

 _''A Hero's Death_.'' That was what was engraved on his frame.

They all thought of him as their hero.

Now more than ever, it was clear... Darius was meant to lead them. Back to power. Back to hope.

But most importantly, in their quest for revenge.


End file.
